


Boyband Hair 2.0

by transitorywhim



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Love Confessions, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-24 17:58:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17709008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transitorywhim/pseuds/transitorywhim
Summary: Reid doesn’t usually like to be touched, but he couldn’t help the traitorous smile that formed whenever a certain beautiful agent ruffled his hair. When he gets a haircut and both the head pats and conversations seem to stop, insecurity sets in.





	Boyband Hair 2.0

**Author's Note:**

> A Reader-insert one-shot with a nameless female reader. I don't like to use the Y/N placeholder or refer to the reader as "you," but the reader can still be anyone.

Doctor Spencer Reid avoided physical contact whenever possible—handshakes not so subtly averted by a short wave of his palm. Doctor Spencer Reid did not enjoy being touched—reciting and repeating facts about passing pathogens and lower risk kisses. But he had one confusing exception to his rule to repel. Spencer Reid had contradicting feelings about a certain agent ruffling her lovely, warm fingers through his wavy hair. 

It had taken him by surprise the first time she’d done it. He had been smiling in triumph having proven Morgan wrong once again and looked up to hear her laughing. The silvery sound still echoed in his dreams, the phantom taste of her honeyed voice lingering in his imagination.

“Don’t ever doubt Boy Wonder, Morgan,” she’d warned, eyes crinkling playfully in the reflection of his shining irises. Her fingers had suddenly combed through his neck-length locks, scratching lightly against his scalp. He’d instantly sat up straighter, scrunching his face in confused delight. He had only registered the faint smile on his lips when she had already walked away, but it had disappeared soon after.

He’d been used to the Boy Wonder moniker. He understood his teammates meant it without malice. As one of the younger members of the team with the highest IQ and an astonishing eidetic memory, the nickname made sense. But the age gap between himself and the BAU’s newest member spanned only two years, the latter taking his previous title as the youngest agent. Yet when she called him Boy Wonder and tousled his hair, his mind warred with the conflicting charm and sting he felt at her words.

Doctor Spencer Reid didn’t want her to view him as a kid like so many others often did. But Spencer Reid craved whatever attention and contact she offered to him. He found himself aching to stay near her, longing to see her smile even at the expense of his pride. So, despite himself, he’d try to win a pat on the head whenever the opportunity presented itself. He’d do a cool trick, she’d run her hands through his hair, and he’d revel in it every time. And every time he’d hear quickly articulated words echoing in his mind, his own pesky voice delivering his own taunting profile: _“He’s devolving and may resemble an actual love-starved puppy.”_ It wouldn’t stop him.

But when he’d cut his hair shorter and everyone but she had gawked at him with wide eyes and slack jaws, his brows furrowed with worry. He mentally cursed the barber who had assured him he’d be sporting the latest and most attractive style.

The day moved along with the team’s antics mainly directed at him. Morgan’s “Pretty Boy” teases never relented. Spencer kept alert and vigilant, dodging every advance of JJ’s, Prentiss’ and Garcia’s grabbing hands threatening to set his hair askew. He ignored the deadpan remarks of Hotch and Rossi, longing for the voice of the agent who had kept her face buried in a case file for most of the day. His eyes constantly shifted to her desk across the way, never catching her gaze and severely missing her smile. She’d hardly said a word at all to anyone, drowned out by the chatter of the rest of the team’s conversations - main topics including grumbling over the paperwork of their latest case success, plans to go to the bar tonight, and, of course, Reid’s hair. Hours thankfully passed by quickly in a blur of those keywords, but hardly any spoken by her. He’d instantly perk up at the faint sound of her agreeing hums or short laughs, but they’d evaporate almost the instant he looked up to catch them.

Normally, Spencer turned down invitations to the bar from his team. But he wanted to be near her, missed her although she sat nearby. Maybe she just needed to focus on work. Maybe he’d allowed his mind to overthink, fixating on nothing. So, hesitantly, he tagged along in Morgan’s car, leg bouncing the entire way to the bar. 

“Hey, Pretty Boy.” Reid turned to the source of his fellow agent’s call. “If you keep shaking this car around like that, I don’t think either of us will have the stomach for anything tonight.”

“Sorry,” the doctor whispered sheepishly, using his hands to stop his restless knees.

Morgan slanted his eyes, scrutinizing the nervous mess in his passenger seat. “What’s got you so jumpy?”

“Is my hair stupid?” Spencer asked, cutting off the end of Morgan’s question.

“This is about your hair?” Morgan’s dark eyebrows quirked upward in confusion, lips tight to hold in the chuckle that threatened to escape any second. When he caught sight of the young doctor staring out the window, the realization set a smirk on his lips. “Oh, I see. This is about you-know-who.”

Spencer’s head snapped to the front seat, ready to refute his friend’s claim. But the secret couldn’t stay concealed and, apparently, it had long been obvious. He really needed some non-profiler friends.

“Listen, kid. If you think she’s the type of woman that cares how you style your hair—”

“She’s not,” Reid quickly interjected, certain of one thing for the first time that evening.

“Then we both know there’s nothing to worry about.”

Doctor Spencer Reid proudly put his faith in facts and statistical probabilities. He understood the truth in Morgan’s words. He knew her character, felt connected and drawn to it. She wouldn’t care about something so trivial as looks and neither should he. Yet he couldn’t shake the nerves turning his stomach inside out when Morgan parked. He took one last look at his reflection in the tinted car window, heaved a relenting breath, and followed his friend through the door.

Inside the bar, he found himself sat next to her, squished together between Garcia, Morgan, Prentiss, and Rossi. The agents shouted at each other across the table, raised voices at war with booming music, yet her silence seemed louder still. Her leg pressed against his, making the already warm environment even warmer. He hunched himself forward, trying to at least give her space to comfortably lean back in the curved booth and not jam into her elbows. A gentle bump on his shoulder shook him out of the trance he hadn’t realized he’d trapped himself in.

“Is there some incredible revelation to all the world’s questions at the bottom of your club soda, Doctor Reid?” She spoke into his ear, the other agents not noticing their side conversation. He looked up at her, a grin stretching his lips when he saw the sparkle in her eyes. He’d make that look his lifeline tonight in case she didn’t spare another smile. “You okay?” She mouthed silently, concern clearly etched across her features.

“I’ve been wanting to ask you the same question all day,” he admitted, sitting back to speak into her ear as she had just done.

Her shoulders slumped. “Sometimes work really sucks,” she sighed. She didn’t offer any further explanation, taking a quick sip of her drink and pursing her lips as if regretting it. 

His breathy chuckle escaped without warning. “Why are you drinking that if you hate it so much?”

“I don’t hate it!” She argued a bit too loudly, catching herself and laughing even louder. _Silver and honey._ She shrugged. “It tastes fine, I guess. I just don’t always like bubbly drinks.”

“Well, I would offer you mine as a replacement but...” He held up his glass to show her the carbonated bubbles floating from bottom to top.

“ _You_ , Doctor Don’t Touch Me, would let me drink from your cup?” She challenged him with an arched brow and a glossy smirk.

He shrugged one shoulder, pulling back a stray strand of shortened hair, and then she saw one corner of his pink mouth lift upward.

“I need to dance!” Garcia suddenly shouted, slapping her hands on the table and making everyone jump in surprise. She pulled Morgan from the booth as Prentiss and Rossi followed. When she stared daggers at the quiet pair still sitting in the booth, Reid silently begged the tipsy tech analyst to let him be.

“I’m going to keep Doctor Reid company here, Penelope,” his not-dance partner explained, rescuing him swiftly from certain humiliation. “I’ve seen a bunch of thirsty ladies eyeing our Pretty Boy here. I’d better stick around to help him out.”

“Fabulous! He could use a skilled wing woman such as yourself,” the blonde squealed happily, flashing a wink before skipping off to the dance floor with the rest of the team.

“Sometimes I wonder why I don’t follow the sage example of Hotch and JJ and just go home to my nonexistent children,” Spencer chuckled and breathed a relieved sigh. “Good cover-up.”

“Oh, it’s no cover-up,” she told him, amused at the confusion painted across his face. “You’re telling me you haven’t noticed how many girls—and guys for that matter—have checked you out just within the past twenty minutes? I’ve had to glare away at least five jealous onlookers.”

“What? But—I mean,” he stuttered. “No one has ever paid attention to me the other times I’ve visited this bar.”

“Maybe you never noticed. Or maybe it’s your sexy new haircut.”

He blushed instantly at her choice of adjective, knowing she must be messing with him by how easily she had said it. Swallowing a lump in his throat, he croaked, “You think it’s—I mean, you think they think it’s... sexy?”

“You’ve got the bone structure for probably any cut, Spence. Why wouldn’t people think it’s sexy?” She grinned, ruffling her fingers through his hair.

His heart rate seemed to pick up, throwing him off the beat of the pounding bass his friends danced to a few feet away. He’d been waiting on that all day. He looked up into her eyes, seeing kindness and gentleness and something else he couldn’t name reflected in the shine of them. Her soft gaze seemed to embolden him more than any liquor behind the bar could have done.

“I have a confession,” he blurted out, connecting the words into one. “Did you know that facial symmetry has shown to have deep influence over preference in mate selection due to its indication of good health and genes, and one’s hairstyle can actually make the face appear a different shape, and I just thought, well, all day I’ve been feeling stupidly self-conscious about my hair, and then you were hardly talking today, but I know you wouldn’t care about that because, well, you’re you and you’re kind and not shallow and entirely wonderful but I still—”

“Spencer,” she whispered, suddenly holding onto his hand. He thought right then that he’d risk any pathogen if it meant her soft skin against his. He’d break every rule for her. “Sorry for being distant today.” She looked down at their joined hands as her posture seemed to fall under an invisible weight. “That last case just really got to me and I felt suffocated in the office. I didn’t mean to give you the cold shoulder.”

His thumb brushed against her knuckles back and forth until he gathered the courage to wrap his other hand behind her neck and pull her into his body. She quickly melted into his embrace, holding tight to his frame and tucking her face into the warmth of his neck. They stayed like that for a lingering moment, until she mumbled something against his skin. He tried to ignore the gooseflesh that had surely risen at the feeling of her lips on his neck.

“Say again?”

“I said I can’t believe it.” She looked up at him, still loosely wrapped around his body.

“What?”

“That you were worried about your hair all day,” she teased with a smirk.

He merely shrugged as she removed her hands from his shoulders. He missed her warmth the moment she left, but he watched as her eyes softened and she moved a piece of his hair that had covered part of his eye. He shivered when her hand didn’t leave his face, instead, resting to gently cup his cheek.

“You could be bald or rocking a mullet for all I care, Spence.” Her eyes never wavered from his. “I don’t love you for your hair.”

He stilled, thinking he’d misheard her, and his eyes widened as she furrowed her brows at his shocked expression.

“You love me?” His voice came out like an exhaled breath he’d been holding for too long, barely a whisper.

Realizing what she had let slip, she quickly removed her hand from his face as if it had burned her. Mouth agape, she searched for words to clean up the spill. “Yeah, of course,” she said, feigning nonchalance. “You’re one of my closest friends.”

He searched her eyes until she looked away, finding her lie and allowing himself a furtive smile. He wouldn’t make her say it again, not when she didn’t yet want him to know. Not when they both might not be completely ready to hear those three words again. But he’d be a fool to let it go completely.

She glanced at him again, seeing something spark in his eyes and watching his gaze flicker to her lips, and grew more nervous.

“You know what?” She squeaked, wanting to slide out of the booth and out of this moment. “Let’s go to the bar. I need a different drink and, oh look, that girl probably wants your number so we should—”

Spencer’s finger beneath her chin stopped her wild rambling, effectively turning her focus back to him. He said her name so only she could hear him, wanting to keep this treasure hidden for now. He invaded her space further, faces just centimeters apart, and whispered her name again. “I don’t see any other girls,” he breathed. _Only you_ , he thought. 

“Spence,” she murmured, the gulp stuck in her throat echoing too loudly in her head when he spoke her name a third time.

“What are we?” His question tickled her lips, thundered within her chest. “I might not be an expert on this subject, but this feeling—it can’t just be close friends.”

She could see his search for confirmation. No longer of his attractiveness or the symmetry of his hairstyle, but of the feelings she had for him that she’d already revealed. She wouldn’t say it again, not now, not yet. But she couldn’t hide what they both now knew would be inevitable. So, her fingers combed slowly through his hair, trembling slightly but quickly gaining confidence as his eyes fluttered shut and his chest swelled to hold his breath. She scratched lightly at the nape of his neck, the short soft hair tickling her palms delightfully. A small hum escaped from the back of his throat and she longed to taste it on her lips. So, she did.

He tasted sweet like an Arnold Palmer and bubbly like his club soda. Tonight, she decided she could indulge in bubbly. She felt his smile beneath her lips as she covered them with soft lingering pecks, his head following after hers each time she drew back. Her fingers stayed in his hair as he cupped either side of her face and tilted his head, tongue tracing a slow line across the seam of her lips. She let him in, capturing every sound he offered to her - and he gladly gave them away. They separated to catch their breaths, foreheads resting together as their uneven gasps blended with the hot air between them.

“I think I just ruined your chances with those other girls,” she finally spoke, still breathless as she opened one eye to sneak a glance at him. “And your hair.” She laughed, using her fingers to comb out the tangles she had made. 

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He pulled her hand from his hair, placing a gentle kiss on her knuckles before holding her palm against his chest. The racing beat beneath her hand played a lovely rhythm just for her.

“And Spence,” she murmured. “We’re you and me. Us. Definitely more than close friends.”

His lips met hers once more, his smile pressed sweetly against her mouth. Taking his time, he moved slower—languidly lavishing her lips and savoring every scratch of her fingers on his scalp.

And as Doctor Spencer Reid finally kissed his long-secret sweetheart and she kissed him back, eyes closed in bliss, neither noticed their half-drunk friends cheering from the dance floor.


End file.
